


The Birth of the Marauders

by cherie92



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:39:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3429812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherie92/pseuds/cherie92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five different stories. One path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Birth of the Marauders

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel of 'Days of the Marauders'
> 
> Translated by Maria Cherevko

#### **December 10, 1959

#### 

**

The dark-haired woman, frail and small like a child, buried herself in the pillows and looked up at the heavy canopy with wild eyes, sodden from the pain. Damp tar-colored hair spread over the sheets, sticking to the perspiring body. The bed she was lying on floated in the dark room like a big ship, and every now and then the pain pushed at her in harsh waves.

"We should change the sheets..."

"It's too late."

Walburga turned her head and saw Druella Black leaving her shadowy corner near the window and heading toward the bed, sending Walburga a look of warning.

"I don't want to..." the woman whispered furiously. "It. Hurts." Her lips twisted into a snarl, baring her teeth.

"I know," Druella said, stroking her hair tenderly. Walburga shook her head. "But it has to be done, otherwise the child will die."

Walburga shook her head again, and suddenly the pain pierced her anew, so strong that it almost seemed to pierce her brain. She arched involuntarily, clutching her stomach, and Lucretia, who was sitting at the foot of the bed, got ready to deliver the baby. But the woman in labour, once the contraction passed and she recovered her breath, lied back on pillows, soaked with sweat. The two women looked at each other anxiously, with Druella's thin lips pressed together in a line, and a crease forming between Lucretia's eyebrows.

Walburga understood that she was alone in the fight for her life and turned to the wall. Regardless of her will, her body trembled with fear from time to time; her heart was pounding so hard that it was difficult to breathe.

They didn't care about her.

Nobody did.

They only needed the one inside of her.

No one gave a toss about the pain.

And she had to give up everything to him. To them.

It would be wrong to say that Walburga Black wanted this child. There was barely a shred of love between her and her husband when they lay down in bed. At any rate, on her part there was nothing left now but disgust before each long and humiliating session, after which she was unable to look upon any man without a feeling of loathing.

And then came this wonderful present – pregnancy, something that everyone in the house wanted. Except for her. Morning sickness, swelling, weight gain, restriction from attending all celebrations, current labour pains - all for the glory of the noble and most ancient house of Black.

The spasms returned and the woman grabbed at her oversized abdomen, wishing for Little Orion to just come forth from her body in any way possible, so that she would not have to keep waiting for the inevitable waves of frightening pain to finally cease and allow her to sleep calmly.

"Bourgie, we can't wait any more!" Lucretia said firmly, not allowing Walburga to bring her legs together. "You must do it, otherwise we have to get him on our own, and then -"

Her last words were suddenly drowned out by a loud shriek, terrifying the women.

"Bourgie!"

"Lucretia, take care of the child!" Druella shouted, tightly embracing her cousin who had just jumped up on the bed. Her arms were so strong that it seemed like they would be able to keep hold a bear. And Walburga, who was tossing about and attempting to break the hold on her, really reminded one of a beast.

Red from the effort and all disheveled from struggling, she hunched over her big stomach.

"Everything's fine, everything's fine," Lucretia was saying loudly, looking at sheets intently. "You're doing well; everything's ok!"

"Dru, do something!" Walburga desperately growled at last, falling back down to the bed, exhausted. Her face grew numb from dread, to the point where she could barely talk; her arms became cold as ice and trembled as if she were having an attack of the nerves. "Stop this! I can't do it!"

"Darling, it will end soon, it will e-"

"STOP!" Walburga suddenly yelled, so loud that both midwives jumped up and rushed to her. Lucretia's arms were covered with slippery blood.

"Lu, go back to your place!" Druella demanded, patting Walburga's back. "Kreacher!"

"The baby is big!" Lucretia wiped her forehead with the clean part of an arm.

A clap rang out.

The house elf was shaking almost as hard as his mistress.

"Bring Blood Replacement potion!" Druella commanded.

The thought of, 'What?' blazed up in Walburga's paralyzed brain.

"And more towels! Quickly now, you worthless monkey, quickly!"

A crack resounded. It seemed Druella had hurried the servant up with a spell.

Walburga arched again, letting loose another howl. She fell down on the pillows once again, breathing oxygen in greedily. It seemed her body didn't belong to her anymore. Her face, usually so well-groomed, clean and smooth, was covered with sweat, had become pinched and looked older. Her big, narrow mouth looked crooked, and salty tears were falling from red, swollen eyes.

One would think that youthful tenderness and beauty were leaving her body along with the baby.

"So, how is she?" Orion Black asked busily, arriving from down the dark hall.

Walburga's father Pollux Black, her brother Alphard, and Orion's brother-in-law Ignatius Prewett, were standing next to a cold fireplace, listening to screams emanating from behind the door.

The storm had ended by the time night fell, and an early, vicious frost enveloped Grimmauld Place so that it was as cold in the living floors of the house as in the cellar, but still no one moved to light a fire.

In the Blacks' house, warmth was considered a bad sign while the mistress was in labour.

There was a legend that in warmth and comfort, only girls were born.

"She's braving it out…" Pollux answered, smiling awkwardly. The old man's wrinkled face was illuminated by shy happiness, but he was afraid to show his pleasure in front of Orion. Once more, a painful cry came from behind the door.

"I think everything will be fine."

Lifting a wide palm to press it to his mouth, Orion paced in the dimly lit room, stopping occasionally to stand and gradually shift his weight from one foot to another. Ebony floor boards squeaked beneath his feet.

He had a narrow face with small, smooth lines. His mouth was lost in a goatee that formed from short, wiry whiskers. His black, impenetrable eyes flickered under thick, severe eyebrows, looking like a pair of uneasy beetle bugs. Tall, broad-shouldered, strong — he was handsome, but with that classical southern handsomeness, which had an effect only among pale and oblong people and was absolutely lost in the homeland.

Looking at him, you would unintentionally think of the noise of the Greek surf; the taste of olives and wine; the glare of the sun, playing on the curly hair of dusky-skinned girls in snow-white togas; and the tendrils of reaching grapevines...

A roar full of torment shook the house again. It seemed that behind the bedroom door there was not the normal version of Bourgie, who put one in mind of a porcelain doll with her tiny hands, legs, and thin waist, but really a huge wounded tiger from which someone was extracting entrails.

Everyone except Orion involuntarily shared nervous glances; he didn't react at all, just kept looking exactingly at the ancient tapestry covering the wall, representing his family tree. He saw how a new golden thread was curling from his and his cousin's names.

Not so long ago, Cygnus, senior among the Black brothers, and Druella Rosier had borne three healthy daughters in a row. This had become something of a joke, mostly among the male half of the family, who every now and then laughed at Cygnus' was no chance for him to make it up in his family's eyes, either. After their third, the most difficult parturition, the family doctor strictly forbade Druella to have any more children. Like the majority of Black women, she was rather weak physically, and the three attempts to have a long-awaited male successor had seriously diminished her already frail health.

Orion looked at the new, shine-in-the-dark names.

Bellatrix, Andromeda, Narcissa.

The strongest, most reliable branch of the family tree bore three senseless but beautiful fruits, which would someday be placed in someone else's hands with all the benefits. In autumn, Cygnus had to sign contracts with several pure-blooded French families, including the Malfoys and Lestranges. They could keep his family from continuing along the path to eventual ruin. Last year, these families took part in a notable French revolution, during which some magical settlements were completely cleared of muggles. In the opinion of upperclass society, it was an act of salvation, "a cleansing of the pores in the magical population" as Abraxas Malfoy had said during the Christmas holidays. No matter how profitable Cygnus' daughters' engagements would be, they still threatened the Black family with a total structural breakdown and dilution by French blood. To maintain his position, traditions and wealth, Orion Black needed a successor.

Immediately.

"Everything's fine, Bourgie, everything's fine..." Lucretia repeated loudly, squeezing the girl's knees with shaking blood-stained hands. Walburga greedily gasped for air, trying to gain strength before unleashing a new effort. "Just a little more, Bourgie, a little more!"

The woman in labour breathed deeply, as if she was going to make a deep dive, and her whole body hoicked; she grasped Druella's hand so strongly it seemed like she wanted to break her fingers.

"C'mon, sweetheart, c'mon!" Lucretia begged, standing up and looking under the sheet with huge eyes. Her chest was rising quickly now. "C'mon!" She yelled, trying to shout over Bourgie's pained wail.

Walburga croaked constrainedly before crying out strangely and suddenly falling back onto the pillows. The room was filled with an indignant shrill cry.

"Kreacher!" Lucretia shouted with ringing voice. "Kreacher! Where are you, you piece of rubbish?!" She laughed when she saw Druella stroking Bourgie's lambent wet face, and then started crying as well.

"That's it, it's all good now, everything's behind you. You did a good job! You did great, Bourgie!"

Walburga didn't react at her cousin's words, being all eyes at how Lucretia, supporting the head carefully, lifted up a tiny, raw-meat-colored body covered in blood and slime. The baby was screeching discontentedly, flailing its shrunken arms and legs; its eyes were closed tight, and a lock of tarry hair was glued to its damp head.

"What did I have?" She asked, barely coming round. "What is it, Lucretia?"

The door burst open, and all the men turned their head at once, seeing Druella's face, each one of them full of dread.

Orion's hand dropped from his face and he turned to her.

Everything froze.

"A son..." the woman exhaled, looking at him with huge blue eyes.

Pollux gasped loudly, gripping his nightcap in his hand. Ignatius touched his shoulder.

On Ignatius' usually grim and aloof face was now an expression of boisterous triumph. Alphard began to smile and reddened strangely, as if the word 'son' meant something indecent. And Orion, hearing an odd, inexplicable ringing in his ears, darted to the door to see how an effulgent Lucretia handed his wife their little white parcel; at that very moment he could see an incredibly little, dawn-colored foot. Little human feet.

He wondered, 'Can people be so small?'

Walburga raised her head and met her husband's gaze. A wisp of a smile, equal parts complacent and soft, slid off her face at once. Her countenance became aloof and cold. For the first time on Orion's swarthy face, a particular expression appeared, one she had never seen before. She understood that from now on, his future was in her hands. From now on, everything was in her hands.

 

####  **January 30, 1960

#### 

**

 

"Who can I wish a happy first birthday?"

The second Jane Evans saw her husband, she blossomed and and quietly bounced the small bundle in her arms. Warm hazel eyes began to shine, and the wide, soft mouth was touched by a warm smile. She looked much better than when John had stolen a look at her in the ward early this morning. The only reminders of her labour were the bags under her eyes and a slight pallor, shaded by a shock of auburn hair.

"Johnny..."

Mr. Evans, a tall, handsome man with shoulders as wide as an oarsman's, big hands and feet, and wavy ginger locks, snuck into the ward and took a huge bouquet out from behind his back. Thin, slightly sweet perfume diffused through the dry, sterile air of the hospital.

"Lilies!" Jane exclaimed, giving her husband a tender, but at the same time reproachful, look. "I have too many flowers already! The doctor-"

"There's no such thing as 'too many flowers,'" the man muttered, finding a place for the new bouquet among the whole regiment of daisies, roses, chrysanthemums and violets already present. Were it not for the bed and cold, snow-white walls of a hospital ward, it would be possible to think that Jane really sat in one big flower, just like Thumbelina.

"I am so proud of you; you were so brave." He sat down on the edge of the bed and finally kissed her for the first time in two days. "You're going to be the best mom in the world. And I'm such a coward. I was so afraid for you..." John looked at the swaddling blankets in his wife's arms and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Can I...?"

Jane smiled, and, lifting one slim arm, turned down an edge of the thin pink blanket to reveal the round, rosy face of a newborn. The girl's head was adorned with fine, downy hair, a small button nose, and a pair of eyes of that were unusual in that they weren't shut tight in unseeing cracks, but were instead wide open, watching a large unknown man with a sort of rapt curiosity, almost severe in their intensity.

The smile disappeared from the man's face, replaced by apprehension. Jane even became nervous for a second, seeing the change in the infant's face, but the moment she touched husband's shoulder, he shivered and shifted his clouded gaze back to her.

"Take her...," she whispered, holding out the baby carefully. John extended his arms to cradle the girl gently.

"She looks just like you," he mumbled absently. The glasses slipped down to the very tip of his nose, but it didn't even cross his mind to take a hand off the precious bundle and set them straight. "This is a real miracle... Jane, this is a miracle, isn't it? There's me, there's you... and now there's her. She started off as a part of both of us and now she's separate, existing on her own ... isn't it magic?"

"Yes," the woman replied, stroking the blanket softly. The little girl frowned, peeking out grimly from between her parents. Suddenly, she closed her eyes and yawned, opening small toothless mouth up widely. "Magic."

"Beautiful...," John said, walking aimlessly with her around the ward. Jane tensed slightly, but stayed calm, keeping a watchful eye on her husband's movements; her demeanor was reminiscent of a cat looking after her kitten which had vanished into the high grass.

John stopped. Bright rays of sunshine, unusually warm for winter, poured through the window into the ward. Confident in his future prior to this moment, the man suddenly realized how fragile and ethereal his little family's world was. Somehow, the birth of his first daughter hadn't already produced this effect; he had been too happy, too overwhelmed, and too absorbed with his new responsibilities.

But now, a huge, shattering wave of love suddenly filled his big, strong heart up to the brim. There was his wife sitting in the bed. That slim, small woman, who wasn't even able to open the pickle jar standing on the top shelf of the pantry, gave birth to a child, almost completely without doctors' help just a few days ago. Frightful to think, what torments she had been through.

At home little Tuni was waiting for him. She'd caught a cold and wasn't feeling well. She was worried too, dimly understanding that something extremely important was happening while she was being left out of the loop at home; moreover, she hadn't been able to see her Mum for days.

He looked at the small, defenseless individual nestled in his arms.

Now she was theirs to take home and raise. She would start off small and defenseless, catch colds, go to school every morning, grow up, some rascal would fall in love with her, and she, just like Jane, would try and fail to open stubborn pickle jars... and then one day she would leave them to live out her own life.

The girl looked at him like she perfectly understood what was going on in his soul.

In his own green eyes, which had somehow been duplicated on this tiny pink face, the whole world was mirrored.

A future world unknown to him. Her own small world.

Making a circle within the sun's golden light and the heady aroma of the flowers, John came back to wife's bed to sit on the edge.

"Jane," he whispered.

"What?" She asked, whispering as well.

"I love you."

"I love you too," she said quietly.

They kissed softly, sweetly.

The baby began to squirm, excited about the motes of pollen flying through the air that starched both her hands.

"Should I give it to her?" John offered, reaching up and tearing off a petal from the nearest bouquet. It happened to be a lily petal.

"No, don't," Jane said severely, covering the girl with the blanket. "There's pollen." She leaned down and tenderly kissed the tiny nose. Her daughter made a wry face and arched within the swaddling cloths. "I'm afraid that she might develop an allergy to pollen or start sneezing. I think you should take all these wonderful flowers away, John, even though I'll miss them... Did you take Tuni to the doctor?"

"Yes, she's alright now - asks about you all the time." Moving the bouquet further away, John came back by the bed and knelt on the floor, bearing against the sheets on his elbows.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I wouldn't have come if I knew that I could infect you, don't worry. And I'll bring all the flowers home today. Tuni will be glad; she likes flowers too," he told her with a smile, tickling down one tiny arm with his finger. Once it reached her hand, the girl grabbed it gleefully. "Did you hear, Lily?" Jane blinked and cocked her head, looking blankly ahead of her. "You have a big sister!"

"What did you say?" she asked, smiling slowly at something.

"What did I say?" John looked at his wife confusedly, his mouth opened a bit. "Oh, sorry, it was unintentional; it just came to me. I saw the bouquet and somehow..."

"Shh, shh," she pressed a finger to his lips. "Lily..."

John nuzzled his forehead against his wife's knee, covered with a blanket, and began to smile.

_"Lily..."_

Jane tenderly stroked her daughter's cheek with a finger; it was soft, like a peach.

"Lily. The Fairy."

 

####  **March 10, 1960

#### 

**

"Mr..." It was hard to remember all his patients' names, but the corpulent healer from St. Mungo's Hospital managed to do so with great difficulty.

"Mr. Lupin, can I talk to you?"

A slim young man, with hair the color of ripe wheat gathered into a ponytail, looked around and jumped up the second he saw who was calling him. Giving a quick sympathetic touch to the shoulder of the large, hairy wizard beside him, he ran up to the physician, slipping on the shiny floor in his haste.

The healer squeezed his wand nervously and hovered awkwardly, listening to the wood squeak miserably. He hated these moments, when he had to look in the families' eyes and tell them something like this.

The beaming young man run up to him, grabbing his shoulders.

"How is Reya, how's the baby, is everything okay? She was so worried this morning. I know, everyone is, but Reya was driving me nuts - I... can I come in already?" he asked, dancing around the healer's large figure, dragging the the wizard along with him.

"Mr. Lupin..."

"Just call me Marcus! What did we have? Reya kept on saying we would have a boy, but I have no clue why she thought so, I mean I think it's a girl, but-"

"Mr. Lupin!" The healer could no longer bear this head-spinning back-and-forth and took Lupin's shoulders sharply. "Your girlfriend died."

So, he said the words, had broken the bad news.

Perhaps he should not have been quite so abrupt.

"What?" His hopeful, dazed smile hardly had time to leave his lips when the light died in his light-brown eyes. Catching the devastated look in them, the healer immediately tore away his gaze and squeezed his wand again reflexively.

"Mr. Lupin... we tried to help her..."

Marcus stepped away from him, reeling towards the stark, cold wall.

"... It was unsuccessful... if we had a little more time and mo- I mean, we... we had to make a cut..."

Marcus seized his hair in his hands, tugging at it, and bent forward. Tears were unable to break through the pain attempting to crush him; the only sound he could make to show his inner anguish was a quiet, strained exhale of air. He pulled at his collar, and the floor felt unstable under his feet.

The healer touched Marcus' shoulder, but he twitched away violently, as if contact with the pale, plump fingers burned; he collapsed to the floor, arms covering his head and neck as he rocked back and forth.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr. Lupin," the physician was saying, still unsure of how to make Lupin clearly understand that St. Mungo's was not at fault. "You should have gone to a muggle clinic... sometimes magic just isn't enough. Your... wife... was too young and too weak... she wasn't ready... the bleeding began, we tried to stop it... few hours... you have to understand... sometimes magic is not..." His rambling words floated through the air, with only bits and pieces being absorbed by the distraught Lupin.

Not knowing how else to get the poor seventeen-year-old's attention, the healer tried sitting down heavily on his haunches next to him, but the robe constricted his enormous stomach painfully so he stood up again; his feet began to hurt immediately.

"She's dead, dead..." Marcus was repeating unthinkingly. "She left me. She's gone. Gone..." At those words the dam of grief, which had up until this point been stemmed, burst open, letting tears of pain and helpless anger gush at full blast down his face and onto the clean floor.

"But my girl, I can't... what will I..."

"Eventually, Mr. Lupin, you'll have to..." he trailed off with a shrug, before clenching his soft pink fists. "Pull yourself together for the sake of your son. R... Reya would want it."

Marcus raised his swollen eyes up to the healer. Tears continued to attack them, his nose was still red and running, his hollow grey cheeks were covered with wet tracks. Suddenly he remembered something - something that should have already crossed his mind...

The healer mistakenly interpreted his movement and, with a serious look on his face, placed his hand solidly on Marcus' shoulder.

"Yes, Mr. Lupin, you have a son, a healthy baby bo-"

Suddenly Marcus leapt to his feet, making the healer step back in uneasy confusion.

"Where is she?"

"What?"

The young man pushed the physician away and jerkily began to open all the doors in the corridor.

The healer followed after him worriedly.

"What are you... Mr. Lupin..." He tried to stop him, but his feeble attempts were in vain - the man seemed to be a hundred times stronger than normal, and he firmly shooed away the healer's hands. "Please, stop this and calm down!"

"I want to see Reya," Marcus answered in a wooden voice, opening a different door. Some woman squealed hysterically, but he immediately closed it and reached for the next knob along the row of doors.

"Mr. Lupin, you aren't allowed to visit her!"

"I told you that I want to see her; you don't understand. You're not going to stop me. I can't - I have to - I must see her!" Marcus shouted, the pitch of his voice creeping higher and higher.

Two tall figures belonging to medical assistants were running up to him with their wands out.

Marcus flung open the next door and very nearly closed it, thinking that he was again mistaken, before stopping in his tracks as he saw the woman he was looking for.

Reya, his small blond Reya, was lying on a high table, frail and colorless. Her oblong face was set in a serious, somewhat offended expression - her lips were pursed, and her chin was tucked in towards her chest. Long curls fell onto her shoulders and the table, and little hands were lying on her now flat stomach... The hospital shirt was all red there.

"Reya..." Marcus breathed. At that moment, two pairs of hands, strong and thick as the branches of an oak tree, grabbed him around the middle, making him double over as he tried to stand

his ground.

"No!" his voice cracked; Marcus grasped the doorway with all his strength, breaking his nails on the wood. "No! Reya, Reya, Merlin, no, let me go, let go, do you hear me? Get your hands off me! I won't leave her; let me go!"

Suddenly, a young woman, a healer in light yellow robes snuck out of the ward. From what she couldn't help but overhear going on in the corridor, she guessed that the disconsolate father was going to burst into the ward at any moment, so she decided to carry the newborn away from here, for its own safety.

When she saw the young man's drawn face, with him trying to twist his hands away from statue-like assistants' grips, she squeaked and pressed herself into the wall, holding the little cocoon of white blankets tightly. The baby began to cry, scared by the loud shouts.

Marcus, already forced to stand still physically, now froze inside, listening with all his heart to the new, unknown-up-until-now sound.

_'Remus, Marcus, I want to name him Remus. It's like Reya and Marcus. And it would sound really sweet, don't you think?'_

The tiny human was wailing loudly, screwing up his wrinkled face, and Marcus couldn't take his eyes off him.

 _'Mark... Mark, do you like it?_ '

'Honey, I don't want children to tease him and call him Rebus. We can think of another name, the second we see him.'

"I like it..." he whispered now, looking at the small part of Reya and himself with acute fascination. But their bundle was in this woman's arms. That was wrong. He had the primitive urge to seize the baby, to take him by force from the healer and run away with him to the end of the world, to someplace everyone would stay of their lives. "I like it... Reya..."

 

####  **March 27, 1946

#### 

**

 

"Charlus, for Merlin's sake, stop fussing about. The calculations were perfect," a solidly built gentleman said, watching carefully as a lean, dusky youth swept by him yet again. "You have no reason to worry!"

"And if we don't get it on time?" Charlus Potter paced all the way back to the corridor, his fingers raking through his fleecy head of dark hair. "What if Doriana doesn't make it on time? What if something happens and everything goes wrong?!" He looked at his watch, probably for the hundredth time, before stepping back and snapping up his head to compare its hands with those of the hospital clocks. They were perfectly synchronized, just as they had been five minutes ago. "We'll be stuck here! Or not here?.." He wrung his hands nervously, as if he were trying to squeeze his fear out onto the floor. "I'm afraid to even think about how all this is going to end!"

"I'm telling you, Potter, calm down! She won't be late, because she's already done this before and was on time!" The wizard lifted his finger meaningfully. He was speaking with a strong accent, and somehow, it had a calming effect. Charlus stared at him for a few seconds, then gave a wave of his hand and started anxiously pacing back and forth again.

"We only have twenty minutes left!" he cried, rummaging in his pockets and pulling out a cigarette.

"You were allowed to change your destiny and get younger - not to smoke!" The wizard got up, allowing the robe in his lap, embroidered all over with a finely-worked silver pattern, to slide to the floor. He stalked over and drew the cigarette from his companion's lips.

"You yourself are well aware of it - nothing can be changed." They said the phrase in unison. The only difference was, the wizard sporting the mustache said it calmly and edifyingly, while Charlus Potter nodded along with annoyance to every syllable.

"I know, Tamazi." His hand lifted to his hair again. "And this is very strange, considering how much we've changed already... and we still remember nothing."

"Because all this time you were halfway around the world, figuring out how to use the Time Turner," Tamazi laughed.

"And Doriana was teaching at Hogwarts, yeah. Oh, Merlin, I'm so nervous." Charlus clasped his palms together and pressed them to his lips.

"That's okay," the wizard nodded knowingly before smiling. Rays of wrinkles materialized from the corners of his black eyes.

Charlus met this gaze, full of fatherly tenderness, and pursed his lips, breathing in and out heavily.

"We might have surprised you pretty much?" he asked, motioning to the door, from behind which the wails of a woman in labor and a younger, commanding version of Tamazi's voice, at that time the best doctor in his field, could be heard.

Tamazi smiled kindly into his mustache.

"I was warned about you. But anyway it was very... how to say it in English..." He tickled the air comically with his fingers in his mental quest for the correct term.

"Scary?"

"Exciting! Back then, you know firsthand, no one would even think to use a Time Turner for such a purpose," he stated lightheartedly. "What an experiment this was!"

"Why are you telling me all this? You know full well it was our last hope," the man grumbled, tugging at the colorful sweater that hung from his gaunt frame. "In order for this baby to be born, we, of our own free will, went through this entire..." He was put in mind of the endless queues in the Ministry, all the spells, approvals, revocations and again approvals. "Nightmare."

"I do know!" Tamazi said waving his hands around, seeming completely unconcerned. "This is something to be proud of, Potter! Bringing a new life into the world is wonderful! But why didn't you think of..."

He fell silent on purpose, his black eyes sparkling mischievously. The father-to-betsked with annoyance, hands on his hips. Tamazi had flatly refused to disclose the baby's gender; simply extricating the fact that Dora would be okay had been difficult enough. "The baby? You wouldn't be able to help... the child forever. Even if you had the strongest Time Turner! How are they going to react when you leave?

The younger man inhaled deeply through his nose.

"Ohhh…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I know, Tamazi. I tried to explain it to Dora a thousand times. She just refused to listen... and it was hard for me to argue with her, I'm not too..." Charlus trailed off before clapping his chest. "Mentally I'm almost sixty, Tamazi. I'm older then you and you already have grandchildren. And I…" he threw up his hands, his shoulders hunching up in a helpless shrug. "I don't even have children yet."

"Oh-oh, fatherhood is coming!" the wizard laughed. "There are only ten minutes left. If I remember correctly…" He peeked at his watch, although not in the way of an anxious future colleague, the master of Time Turners, but instead calmly and prudently. "Yes, that's right!"

Charlus threaded his hand through his hair and held the position as he spoke.

"Tell me, why did you decide to become a Traveler? Was it just because of me and Dora?"

"Well you have to admit, this is much more interesting than healing curing the common cold!"

Charlus chuckled and clapped his friend's shoulder approvingly.

In that moment a child's cries were heard from behind the door, and Charlus Potter jumped up and away as if a huge lion had leapt at him from that direction. Tamazi laughed, watching him. Charlus, at all cost trying to get rid of weird, growing all the time rumble in his years, stared at his colleague wildly.

"There's a baby…" he began to babble. "How is it possible that…" He froze.

"It's not just any baby!" Tamazi said, laughing and showing off strong, tan arms from beneath his shirtsleeves as he brought the man to his feet. Giving him a hearty slap on the back, Tamazi exclaimed, "It's a boy!"

"What?" Charlus asked, caught off balance. His face shone with excitement as understanding dawned on him, and even though he was a sixty-year old in a young man's body, his countenance suddenly brought to mind that of a little boy.

"Your son, Charlus, you have a son!" Tamazi chuckled.

Charlus let out a loud whoop before grabbing the other man and starting to whirl them both around in dizzy, happy circles.

 

####  **March 27, 1960

#### 

**

 

Two elderly people, standing in the center of a sunlit room with their hands joined, watched as a tiny, gold hourglass rose up between them and started to revolve madly, turning into a blurred spot in the air - a little galaxy. The golden chain that encircled them began to shine. The woman looked into the warm, chocolate eyes of her husband; in the next moment, their bodies were surrounded by a gauzy cloud of smoke. Within a couple of seconds, they had dissolved into thin air, leaving the airy, cream-and-floral-decorated living room empty except for the wicker furniture.

A few sun-filled minutes passed. Outside the window of the empty house, birds were singing as loudly as they could. The curtains of the open window were dancing in the breeze, tickling a shiny wooden floor and brushing the back of the wicker chair on which lay a forgotten newspaper. Well-tended pots of daisies sat on the windowsill, gossiping to each other as only flowers can. Somewhere in the depths of the house, a clock ticked.

Suddenly, the front door burst open, letting in the spring sun's rays, and a different version of the same couple entered the house.

Doriana Potter, a beautiful woman in a magnificent, dark blue cloak lined with fur, moved into the house cautiously, carefully holding a big, lacy bundle taped up in a satin ribbon with tiny bells. Each step was accompanied by a soft, melodic peal. She had long dark hair that coalesced into a smooth, flat fabric, framing her narrow face and its strong brows, observant dark eyes and full lips. Despite her age, time, it seemed, had not wanted to spoil the pretty Italian woman's features: her thick, rippling black hair was barely touched by grayness, the original midnight color having merely lightened in some parts; only a few, faint wrinkles were visible on her forehead and around her mouth. Aside from these tokens of age, she was still the same, funny girl who'd been able to make anyone smile, who radiated her love of life in waves, with whom a young time traveler, Charlus Potter, had fallen in love with long ago.

Carrying the infant into the living room, that kingdom of flowers and sunlight, she looked exactly like a dryad of the forest who had just brought her firstborn into the world, her beauty transforming the space into a magical woodland grotto.

Charlus Potter, a slim but solid man with short, luxuriant hair, gone silver at the temples, and a firm, resolute look, entered the room. Although no longer hasty and jittery, his movements were still filled with strength. It seemed like he put a thousand thoughts into every gesture, his motions coming off as steady and deliberate.

Following behind Charlus, Tamazi joined the family in the living room. His silver hair contrasted sharply with the olive-toned skin of a face that was as wrinkled as a baked apple; every last line communicated his current feelings of joy and enthusiasm. It appeared that time had had no power over his spirit, restrained to affecting merely the external.

Taking off his warm cloak, he draped it over the back of an armchair and picked up the fallen newspaper with a view to finish reading the article he'd started a year ago.

Doriana Potter, rocking her son gently, sat down on one of the enormous wicker armchairs overloaded with big, white cushions and looked at the old man with apprehension.

Pouring wine into glasses, Charlus extended his neck to peek over the back of the chair.

"Is he still asleep?"

"He is," Doriana nodded, playing gently with the fine hair on the baby's head. "Isn't he sweet?"

"What are those bells for? They'll wake him up!"

"Your voice will wake him up, Mr. Potter," the woman accused playfully, turning back. "Speak quietly..."

Tamazi folded the newspaper up and gave a resigned sigh, accepting a glass of wine from Charlus.

"It's still so calm here. It's strange not to see Grindewald's name in the papers."

He supported his elbows on the sides of the chair, resting the base of his glass on his large stomach.

"In my opinion, it's better that we're away from all the crazy, complicated stuff," Doriana said cheerfully, drawing up her legs to get more comfortable. She hugged her son tenderly. "I want James to grow up in a happy world."

"It will be," her husband assured her as he sank down onto the couch. "We were gone for five minutes - what could have happened?"

"Eh... and I didn't even notice how Grindewald looked like back them... I was just so happy to have a healthy back again!" Tamazi burst out laughing and winked to pair of "young" parents, at Dori in particular, who was shining with happiness. "I'm proud of you both. You went the right way about everything."

"Tamazi, won't it affect him?" The woman asked worriedly. "He travelled through fourteen years as a newborn!"

"No," Charlus waved his hand carelessly, holding the glass of wine in the other. "Trust me, Dori, I checked this Time Turner, and not just once, before using it on us."

"Your own opinion doesn't count!" the woman said with false severity. She turned to her husband and looked at him appraisingly. "I got used to the young you, you know. And now I have to get accustomed to this version all over again." Her husband knew that statement applied to the both of them; Charlus had noticed the look his wife had cast the mirror the second she entered the vestibule.

He put his hand on her shoulder and she covered it with her own, squeezing his fingers softly before pressing her cheek to them.

"Everything's ok, Dori," Charlus said quietly.

"Yeah, you have no reason to worry. James will be a normal kid, just like the others."

"No," the woman shook her head and glanced at the baby's face. Every time she looked at her son, her heart swelled with pleasure. She couldn't get used to the idea that she had a child now, and looked at him in the same manner that blinded people look upon the sun and the sky for the first time. "He won't be like the others. He's already special."

"To James Potter!" Tamazi said, raising the glass.

"To James Potter!" the happy parents answered in unison, clinking their glasses together in a toast.

 

####  **July 3, 1960

#### 

**

 

The homely woman was crying in earnest, wholly unable to stop even though the tears had made her eyes painfully swollen.

A male healer stood unsurely next to her bed, exchanging sharp, helpless shrugs with the nurses, trying to get them to calm the young mother down somehow. He appealed to them with soundless, mouthed phrases and wide eyes, but the girls only answered in kind.

"M...Mrs. Pettigrew..." one of them attempted, touching the woman's shoulder timidly, stopping when this made her cry even harder. She started gasping in great breaths broken by sobs; her swollen face was stained with dried tears and her matted, mousy hair stuck to her cheeks.

"Sweetie, we're begging you, calm down, you're hurting yourself. You can't worry like this now, you have-"

"You d-don't understand, W-W-William couldn't leave, he couldn't do that; you don't know him at all," she wept. "Let someone app..." - sob -"...apparate to our house, to the farm... or to the pub; he'll be in one of those places..." She looked beseechingly at people surrounding her.

Her wardmates, two young and, judging by the amounts of flowers on each of their tables, quite loved women, exchanged looks. Sympathy was evident on both faces, but a shrewd observer could pick up on the vague, "glad-that's-not-me" thoughts swimming beneath the surface of their pity. Their neighbor's features could hardly be termed beautiful: thin frizzy hair, a curved nose, small watery eyes. The only attractive attribute of her face was her full, well-shaped lips. But that one redeeming feature wasn't enough to help her hold onto her husband.

"I personally went to your home, Mrs. Pettigrew..." The healer hesitated, remembering the oppressive atmosphere of the small wooden cottage, situated near the remains of a hippogriff farm, and the cowardly note on the kitchen table under a bottle of Fire Whiskey. It wasn't a new experience for him - an old healer saw this type of note more than once in his day and age. The most difficult thing in such a situation was always trying to convince the new mother that no-one was lying to her, and that the most important thing to worry about at this point was the child...

"...I didn't find your husband there. I think he..."

"Something must have happened to him," she moaned.

The young nurse who sympathized the most threw shining eyes upon the healer; she kept stroking the new mother's frizzy hair, as if the woman were a foolish girl, even though she was twice the nurse's age.

"Oh, no, of course not. I think he went to... visit his parents."

"He has no-one beside me!" The woman who'd just gone through labour snarled, staring at him. Her buck teeth made her look like a rabbit.

"Then when he gets back, he'll tell us himself where he had to go so urgently."

Pretty lips trembled, arched, and suddenly the woman howled, making all of them jump.

The doctor couldn't bear it anymore and slapped his legs in irritation. "For God's sake, Mrs. Pettigrew, pull yourself together!" The girls exchanged looks - they'd never seen Healer Pasternak snap at a patient before. "If you keep on crying, your milk will go sour and your son will get sick or become a squib!"

She quieted immediately and hiccupped in shock, moving her light-blue eyes up to him.

"Of course you don't want that," the healer muttered, hiding his hands in the pockets of a light-yellow set of robes. "I advise you to calm down and not try to find a black cat in a dark room. Everything can still turn out alright in the end. You'll get sick, your husband will come tomorrow, and it'll turn out that all that time spent worrying yourself was pointless. Elizabeth will bring you some hot tea."

"He won't come," Mrs. Pettigrew said suddenly in a flat, wooden voice, straightening her back. Looking blankly at something in front of her, she started to unbutton her shirt and continued in a calm, steady voice: "No, he won't come."

All the nurses looked at Pasternak, and then the woman began to yell again, making them shift nervously.

"Damn him and his hippogriffs! He thinks he dumped me! Let me tell you something - it was me who threw him out! Me! We don't need him, the bloody drunkard!" She pulled her shirt down one shoulder, baring her chest shamelessly. "The thief! That rascal!"

The exasperated healer inhaled heavily before nodding meaningfully to Elizabeth; then he left the ward, gloomily but already aloof, moving on mentally to other people's problems and illnesses.

The solicitous nurses left the ward like a covey, following their leader, secretly glad they could go back to minding their own business.

"I'll stay with you, Mrs. Pettigrew," Elizabeth said when they were left alone. She tried to help her feed the baby for the first time, but the woman pushed her hand away. "I'll sit here to call Pasternak if you start feeling ill. And I'll wake you up, if your..."

"Oh, come on," the new mother said peevishly, watching her baby suck. "You know just as well as I do that won't happen..." She looked at the younger girl with the unpleasantly determined look of an abandoned, thirty-year old woman. "Elizabeth."

The girl, looking at her with kind, still-childish eyes, pursed her lips confusedly; it seemed as if she couldn't decide whether she should be smiling. She rose from the small bedside chair she'd been sitting in to get out of the uncomfortable situation.

"I'll get you some tea," she told her charge, before swiftly walking out of the ward, fixing the cover of one of the patients' beds along her way.

Mrs. Pettigrew watched the girl's fast-moving legs sullenly, then looked down.

"I would love to know who your dad dumped us for," she whispered, stroking the baby's small, round head on which a few locks were already curling. The baby smacked his mouth, dribbling some milk. "Sh-sh..." She wiped his face carefully. "Honey, don't be afraid, I won't let you down," she started crooning to lull the boy, who'd already eaten his fill and started to yawn. "You can't trust anybody... Absolutely no-one. They'll all betray you. But me... I won't ever... ever"


End file.
